Page 54 of Bully's Darkness
Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “If we’re safe now, why do I need to check in?”
I can’t tell her I think Dagger is stalking me. She’ll panic and run right back to Bully. And so, I force a smile as I stand. “Because we’re sisters, Bria.” And I head for the door.
Ann embraces me the second I walk through the door. “I’ve missed you.”
I smile, holding her a little longer than needed because she makes me feel so loved, and right now, I need it. “I missed you too. And the pups, of course.” I shrug from my coat. “How are things?”
“We’ve finally rehomed Dodger,” she says excitedly, and I clap my hands together with happiness. Dodger was another old dog we’d had here for over three years.
The door opens, and a woman enters carrying a huge bunch of white roses. I almost roll my eyes at his cliché as she puts them on the side. “These are for Liv,” she states, and I force a smile as I step closer to sign her clipboard.
“Thanks.”
“Who’s a lucky girl?” asks Ann, grinning as she takes a sniff.
“Keep them on reception,” I mutter. “I don’t want them.” I head to the back room to dump my coat and bag, and then I open the card.
‘Mama, I hear you like white because red reminds you of blood. I’m sorry for losing it yesterday. It’s a tense time. Forgive me. D x’
My brow furrows. There’s only one man who calls me mama, and it isn’t Bully. But how the hell does Dagger know my preference and the reason why? I stuff the card in my back pocket and head back out to Ann. I’ve taken so much time off already, I refuse to spend it thinking about either of those men.
By five o’ clock, I’m exhausted. I promised Ann I’d lock up, so she left early, but I didn’t anticipate having a mad rush on for the last hour.
I lock the door and turn right as a motorbike rolls to a stop. I groan when Bully steps off. “I know you don’t want to speak to me,” he begins. I don’t, but a small part of me is relieved to see him, like having him nearby makes me safer. I glance around, wondering if Dagger is watching.
“What do you want?”
“Just checking in to see if you’re okay,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes.
“I’m good,” I snap, throwing my bag on my shoulder and heading in the direction of home. I almost smile when I hear his boots following. He doesn’t speak, just follows. And when I get to my apartment block, he waits a few steps behind, watching as I go inside. When I turn back, he’s gone.
Bully
The rain’s a fine mist, clinging to leather and metal. Our headlights stay off as we roll in, slow and silent, like wolves circling the kill.
Two lorries sit parked in the middle of the site. Engines off. Lights out. No signage. No logos. But I know what’s underneath the crates of car parts in those trailers. Coke. Kilos of it. Pure and heavy.
We move around the containers like stealth lions on a kill mission. Black hoodies. Gloves. Suppressors already locked and loaded.
Mad Dog eyes the scene. “Two drivers, three unloaders. Five total.”
“Then we make it fast,” I mutter.
We fan out. I move left, circling behind the first lorry. Boss and Smiler sweep wide. Taz and Mad Dog approach straight-on. Five shadows in a death waltz.
One of the unloaders lights a cigarette, laughing about something.First shot.Taz takes out the smoker. Silent. Swift. The man drops mid-laugh.
Confusion erupts too slow to matter. The second unloader reaches for his weapon, but Mad Dog plugs him twice in the chest before he even clears leather.
I charge the cab of the first lorry and rip the door open. The driver inside barely has time to flinch before I pull the trigger point-blank. Blood sprays the windshield.
His partner scrambles in the other cab, trying to start the engine, but Boss is already there.He yanks the door open and drags him out kicking and screaming. Smiler slams him into the concrete, pressing the muzzle of his Glock to the guy’s eye. “Beg.”
The man opens his mouth . . .Bang. His skull cracks like a melon. It’s followed by silence, except for the sound of blood hitting pavement and the hiss of cooling engines.
I climb into the back of the first trailer. Just like the intel said, crates of brake pads, discs, springs. Fake manifests tucked into clipboards. But beneath the fourth row, there it is, plastic-wrapped bricks. Kilos.White gold.I tear one open, dip a pinkie, and rub it on my gums. “Pure,” I mutter.
Taz joins me. “We could move this. It’s easy money.”
